Ah Strictly....

Yes, I have a favourite already... *swoon*

And just another plug...

For those who haven't bought Jumping in Puddles - here is the blurb

When Detta O'Neill returns to Rathinch - a village in Donegal - she is determined to make a difference. Bringing together four lone parents for a support group which has the old biddies of the village scandalised, she tries her best to build bridges and forge friendships among her charges.
Niamh Quigley's dream of a perfect life in the country was cut cruelly short with the death of her husband Seán. A woman on the verge of meltdown but with a kitchen island you might just kill for she has to find her way again without the man she never thought could hurt her.
Ruth Byrne was left high and dry when her husband ran off with a younger woman. But could his desertion have been a blessing in disguise for Ruth and her children?
Liam Dougherty doesn't think so. His wife is the younger woman in question and he would do anything to win her back ... or would he?
Which leaves teen mum Ciara Boyle. Everyone is just dying to know who the father of her child is, but does she have a good reason for keeping her secret to herself? Apart from being parents, can the group find anything in common? Can they find happiness and confidence again? And can Detta really make the difference she wants to make?

It's been a crazy few days

And I'm very, very tired and trying to plot ways to give my house a face lift before Christmas on a very limited budget.
I wish I had the interior design skills of Aoife and Beth from Feels Like Maybe - but I'm just a wannabe.

That said, my big task for the next few days is to try and clear out the boy's toys that he no longer plays with and give them to the charity shop or the dump - but of course I made the fatal mistake of telling him about this plan. Even though he now thinks Bob the Builder is for "bibbies" he does not want to part with his precious toys - and now he will watching them like a hawk.
I'm going to have to be extra, extra sneaky methinks.

Yer wan off the telly...

Just so y'all know I'll be on TV3 on Wednesday, October 7 at 11am on The Morning Show.

Non-Irish fans/ readers/ nose-bags can view it online after 12 noon on the Watch Again link at
www.tv3.ie/themorningshow

I don't think I could love them more if I tried

I know it's early to say this.... but book 4

All Annie Delaney really wants is her happy ever after. A big dress. A big day. A big commitment. She even has a scrap book filled to bursting with ideas for her dream day, her dream home and – of course – her dream man.



Only problem is, the current man on her arm isn’t so much of a dream as a nightmare and as for the man currently in her bed… that’s a whole other disaster in the making.


With her relationship, and her life, heading into a tailspin Annie realises she has re-examine just what can make her happy, while trying (and failing) not to make things worse.


But it’s never going to be easy – especially when she sees her friend Fionn heading straight towards her own big day with her Mr Right. But then Annie misjudges the difficulties Fionn faces with Mr Right’s very own Little Miss, not to mention the ex waiting in the wings.


Turning to her sister, Darcy, for support Annie has her eyes opened to just what can make you happy – or indeed make you sad. And she ponders that age old question – is there such a thing as the perfect relationship?

The universe says nice things to me...

Today's pearl

You're ready, Claire, to take this show wherever your heart desires.

Damn right I am!

Go forth and feel guilty...

So in less than two weeks time I will officially be re-entering the world of full time working - my maternity leave drawing to a swift close.
I've been off work for 8 months but working, in some capacity, for most of that - be it writing my column, writing my novels or trying to generate publicity. (And contrary to the beliefs of the husband who does actually exist - it is in fact 'work' - not a hobby, or an interest. It doesn't stop being work just because I enjoy it...)
But in two weeks time I'm back to the 9-5 (or the 9-6) and that means, if you believe all you read in the papers  my darling children are hooped. I might as well buy them extra large clothes just now and start stocking up on supplies of insulin and burgers (or something).
Now, this is where I get annoyed. And I know there are those out there who say that the article is actually useful research and will maybe prompt the government to accept that mothers have a valuable role to play in the home (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..... yes, I thought that was funny too) but the truth is it just feels like another stick to beat working mothers with.
We do our best. I have to work, if I'm to put any food (healthy or otherwise) on my childrens' table. If I want to pay for football club or swimming lessons, or buy a new bike or scooter then I HAVE TO WORK. If I want my child to benefit from such basics as a roof over his/her head, clean clothes and shoes that fit then I HAVE TO WORK.
And I have to work long hours. The industry I work in is not famed for its family friendly approach to working - and while my bosses are as accommodating as possible, I still have to work round deadlines and publication slots and such things and that means I can't walk to school in the mornings. (I chose a school close to my work so I could be there for my son if he needed me during the day - and that means school is 5 miles from our house so not the average morning stroll anyway). It means I can't be home at 4.30 to prepare an organic feast and that I'm not always available for a trip to the park for a run-a-round.
But I (and the husband who does exist) do the best we can to provide a healthy and well rounded upbringing for our children.
So how about these researchers turn their attentions away from working mothers for a change and instead research the impact of a government which does not financially support the right of a mother (or father) to stay at home and parent their children?

Following on from an email I had from a reader...

I'm very, very sorry if my use of the word "feck" offended you. I promise I will try harder.
But thank you for reading and letting me know what you thought - and indeed that you liked the book apart from that.

But it did remind me of this... if I can be so bold...

Random conversations with the boy - part a jillion

So the boy pulled a muscle in his neck this morning and couldn't move his head without screaming out in pain. My heart was breaking into a million pieces for him as there was nothing I could but offer Calpol and some heat to the muscle.
He steadfastly refused both and started to dose off again, only to wake and say

J: "Mammy, mammy, I want some pasta."
Me: "Pasta? Are you sure?"
J: "No, no, not pasta. That other thing.... Calpol..."

So ....eep! The scariness gets scarier

I'm more scared of how JiP will do than I was about any of my other books. I think with RD&T I had no expectations at all. I wanted FLM to just do as good as RD&T (and it did a little better) but with this one, I just want it to do something.
I am acutely aware of how competitive the market is out there and I hope my last two books have given me enough of a readership for Jumping in Puddles to make an impact.
It's not about money, or fame - just about being read and enjoyed and maybe a chart position.
Prozac at the ready folks.. a double dose.

I survived Dublin

And I didn't throw up. Which was good. It was definitely much better than this time last year....
And I signed lots of books and smiled and talked the talk and walked the walk, and ate in a very nice restaurant in Malahide (which I now only hear in my head in a big Dublin accent).
Jumping in Puddles is selling well in it's first week - the first review is in and it's lovely and things are getting set for the rest of my career.
One lovely bookseller (Helen in Easons at one of the M50 stores) even very kindly told me I was already a big name.Which I thought was very kind of her indeed.
And then I came home - and my boy almost imploded with excitement at seeing me. The girl, on the other hand. seems set on making me suffer for daring to leave her. It's gonna be a long 18 years.

Things that I have learned today

• That I can drive to Dublin without the aid of a Sat Nav and only get lost once - which is half the amount of times I got lost when I drove with the Sat Nav.
• That I really, really can't sing.
• That James Taylor's 'Fire and Rain' has mucho two many key changes and I sound particularly bad when singing it.
• That Natasha Beddingfield's 'Unwritten' remains the perfect song to listen to when on the book promo trail.
• That I can forget an inordinate amount of things in my car and have to go back to said car (in the bowels of a big car park, far away from my room) at least three times.
• That my agent is still a big fan. (Thank feck for that.)
• That hopefully other people will be big fans too.
• That I actually have no understanding of the value of a Euro and could be very easily ripped off and not know.
• That even fat calf boots are not entirely wide enough for my fat calves.
• That hotel hairdryers are shite - which is only compensated for by the joy of a power shower.

This is the scary part

... Knowing that the book is "out there" and waiting to see if people like it.
It's the same kind of feeling I get every day when the boy goes to school and I wait patiently to see if he has behaved for the teacher and done all the work he should.
It's not a nice feeling. It's a kind of sick feeling.
Through everything - housework, baby-looking-after, planning for my trip to Dublin, I am paralysed by the thought that somebody, somewhere just might be reading it. I want to visit them all, and knock on their door and explain the bits they don't get, or nod when they say a bit made them cry, or just beg them to like it.(bribery is not out of the question).
Eek!

In other news - my washing machine is allegedly fixed. We didn't get a new one but from what the repair man said, he basically replaced every part of it apart from one screw or something...but it's still only a repair.
We shall see - I have yet to build up the courage to switch the thing on and leave the room. It could be a long winter spent in the kitchen watching the washing machine...

Smile - you're on not so candid camera

So yesterday, in our first move for a new publicity campaign championing the very best of Northern Irish writing talent I went to the village of Donaghmore for a photoshoot with fellow authors Emma Heatherington and Fiona Cassidy.
I'm not who is comfortable in front of the camera - the fact that both the other girls are short and thinner than me (Emma is a total vamp, seriously... gorgeous) didn't help. In fact I felt like the BFG in their company.
But the craic was good - we laughed, we talked publishing, we teased each other about our books (Mine is bigger than theirs, just so as you know) and I learned the best lesson of the day.
The photographer was a very lovely man called Jim Hamill and as I tried to suck in my (considerable) belly and complained of same he looked at me, straight faced and said "At the end of the day, it's not about the belly" - and I'm making that my motto from now on, just so as you know.

Anyway - the pics are fab and we Northern girls are ready to take on the world.
Watch this space!

A surreal day

Today was the official day that Jumping in Puddles was release - of course that doesn't actually mean it is in every shop - just that today is the day it was released from a warehouse in Baldoyle to make its merry way into the book shops around the country.
Release days are strange - you wake feeling all excited and then the day pans out pretty much as other days do. Except today will always go down in history as the day my book came out and my (new) washing machine almost caught on fire.
Now before I launch into a rant about my new washing machine and its combustibility (is that a word?) I should say I am grateful that I'm okay - that we are all okay because it could have gone very, very wrong.
This morning I loaded the machine at 4am. I do this sometimes in a fit of OCD insomnia but for some reason I decided not to switch it on - which I normally would and had planned to do so that I could hang the towels out first thing.
Instead I went back to bed and didn't put the machine on til 11. I pottered about, thinking about book launches and such things, and looking after the baby before taking her upstairs for her midday nap.
Now normally, if I can, I would have a wee lie down beside her for this nap and close my eyes but I knew I had things to do so I lay with her til she fell asleep before making my way downstairs.
Which was filled with steam - belching out of my machine. While there was also a foul and mysterious (rubber burning, laundry detergent, dampy icky) odour and when I touched the machine I almost  burned the hand off myself.
This was NOT GOOD. I was pretty sure this was not meant to happen. And when I touched the detergent drawer and it felt off in my hands - kind of melted and warped and all out of shape I kind of freaked.
The whole thing was turned off - just as the water boiled (yes actually bubbled) in front of the wee glass door and I phoned the machine company to rant.
They are sending an engineer. And engineer will be feck all use when it comes to remoulding plastic and I do not trust the machine any more because if I had switched the fecker on at 4am we could have been burned in our beds. If I had gone to sleep beside the baby, as I normally do, we could have been burned in our beds.
Burned in our beds is not my idea of a nice time.
In fact if I were to make a list of things I never ever want to do, I would say being burned in my bed would be right up there.
I fear a battle brewing ...

And when I went into town later, my book wasn't in the shops yet.

70,000 words down

Phew!

So this week I HAVE A NEW BOOK OUT!!!

Yes, the release of Jumping in Puddles has been brought forward and it will be starting its arrival into the shops from this weekend.
I got my author copies on Monday and what a thing of beauty they were. I actually think it's the "best looking" book of my three and I would read it if I picked it up (of course, I would say that, wouldn't I?).

Anyway, it really is very good so if you want to read please do so!
Thanking you kindly.

What a swell party that was

So on Friday night I went out. Like proper out. To a place that was not A) A school or B) a baby clinic.
I went out with a proper handbag. It is shiny and purple and gorgeous and I felt all enamoured with myself because it didn't even have one nappy in it. Not one. And no dummies, or bibs, or jars of  mush or random Lego figures or Ben Ten toys.
It had  a purse, some keys, some lip gloss (I remember lip gloss!) and a mobile phone. If someone had stolen it there would have been not one clue that I'm a mammy. Instead I was just a woman. Wearing lipgloss.
And clothes which didn't smell of baby sick.
I went to restaurant with my mum, my aunts and my lovely granny whose birthday it was. And I ate lovely food (tobacco onions, yum!) and had the craic and then I went to my aunt's house where my cousin was celebrating her engagement and I sat there until ..... wait for it..... 3.30am!
Yes, I was awake to 3.30 in the morning AND IT WASN'T BECAUSE A BABY WAS MAKING ME STAY AWAKE!
I was drinking (wine, wine and fizzy wine) and having yet more craic and talking with my cousin's intended who wasn't one bit (obviously) bored by my wittering on about writing and then. because my husband (who does exist) is lovely I was allowed a "dirty stop out" pass and I went back to my mum's where I slept in her spare room and woke up when I wanted to and not at all just because a baby was going meh wah meh wah at 3am (when I was slightly three sheets to the wind anyway).
So I'm delighted to announce that I am in effect still a human being and not just a mammy. And while I love the mammydom- I love the purple handbag wearing, lipgloss slicking on, wine drinking, stop-outing me perhaps as much.

It has come to my attention...

That some people are not actually sure whether or not I have a husband as I don't mention him all that often.
Now, for the record, I do. I've been married for eight years to a man who puts up with all my madness, is a great daddy to our two kids and who works very hard to provide for his family.
He has been my rock over the last year through a very difficult pregnancy and early days with the wee woman.
From the moment I saw him, 12 years ago, I knew he would be someone special to me and he is.
Sure we have our disagreements but we are together and going strong.

The reason the Mr doesn't get mentioned all that much here is that he's a shy sort. And I used to talk about him a lot - which prompted his friends/ family etc to phone him up and rib him no end. So I kind of don't talk about him too much (apart from a recent article for the Belfast Telegraph in which he is mentioned in perhaps too intimate a detail).
But yes, I'm married. And he's lovely. And I love him.